


And Though the World May Turn Against Her

by thatwriterinthecorner



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, But I promise to try, F/M, Fluff, I will also promise fluff, I write a lot of angst, Retelling, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Tags Subject to Change, not romance centric, probably lots of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:02:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3684486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatwriterinthecorner/pseuds/thatwriterinthecorner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is falling apart and she's barely holding herself together amidst the chaos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Though the World May Turn Against Her

She jerked into wakefulness, gasping for air, dark images lingering in her mind even as she blinked and took in the sight of the wilds around her. Morrigan’s wolf head glanced at her for a moment, but the witch soon turned her attention back to the watch. Alistair slept on, and Audrey was left alone to contemplate the images of her nightmare.

It wasn’t the first time she’d seen their faces behind her closed eyelids, and she already suspected it would not be the last. This time it had been the sight of her mother turning to face the soldiers even as she herself ran, stumbling after Duncan down the passage.

She should have stayed. It would have done no good, but it would have been right. Realising she wasn’t going to sleep again any time soon, Audrey stood and moved as quietly as she could to stand beside Morrigan.

“You rest,” she said softly, “I’ll finish the watch.” She didn’t know if Morrigan understood her in the wolf form, but perhaps her intent was clear either way because the sinuous muscle of the beast began to tremble and shift, rearranging itself and shedding fur until she sat on the ground by Audrey’s feet.

“You are cutting many of my watches short,” the witch observed.

“I assume you’re not bothered.”

“Oh ‘tis no bother at all,” she assured, “I am simply curious as to what keeps one of the illustrious Grey Wardens awake at night.”

“Nothing I want to talk about.”

“Suit yourself.” Morrigan stretched and stalked over to Audrey’s abandoned spot. “Please, do wake me if there is any imminent threat of death.” Audrey just grunted and there was silence until Morrigan’s breathing evened out, becoming deeper and further spaced.

There was a snuffling sound to one side and she glanced over to see Brigadier scratching at his nose where he lay curled beside Alistair. He had instantly taken a liking to the Grey Warden, although as of yet Alistair himself had been too distracted to notice.

They would reach Lothering tomorrow – or today, she supposed, glancing towards the horizon and the faint light that was beginning to trickle over it. Audrey hadn’t thought further than that yet. Right now she felt as though she were simply bouncing, reacting tragedy to tragedy. She’d fled from Highever, been rescued at Ostagar, and now? It seemed to her inevitable that some new horror would present itself when they reached the village, some new way for the Maker to chip away at her.

She had hoped maybe they’d bump into Fergus’ troops as they travelled the Wilds. She’d known it unlikely, had known the Korcari wilderness was vast, but that slim hope had been a balm of sorts. Now, with the prospect of returning to what was tentatively named civilisation, she found herself short on hope.

***

They heard Lothering before they saw it; the chatter and bustle of far more people than a small village at the edge of the wilds had any right to make. Audrey shared a quick glance with Morrigan as their feet moved from the dust of the road to the stone of the walkway that ran beside the village.

There were bandits waiting for them, but they could not match Morrigan’s tongue. The witch talked circles around them and by the end of the meeting it was they who handed over their silver to the fierce Grey Wardens, elite warriors and murderers of the King. Alistair had looked up at the last and only a sharp zap to the shoulder from Morrigan had prevented him saying anything.

“They think _we_ killed the King?” he said as they moved away from the bandits, his voice strangled. “The Grey Wardens?”

“It does rather seem that way,” Morrigan agreed. “Have you finally given up on throwing yourself upon your own sword in grief, or are we to be blessed with further silence?”

“Leave him be Morrigan,” Audrey said, pushing roughly past the pair of them and striding towards the village. She didn’t have the patience for bickering at the moment. A guard in Templar armour was standing at the centre of the path before them and it was from him that they learned of the state of Lothering.

“Maker,” Alistair breathed as they moved into what could only be called a refugee camp. Tents made from cloaks and sticks had been pitched everywhere there was space, children huddled together, staring up at the armed figures with wide, frightened eyes while their parents looked on with equal fear and suspicion. They could hear raised voices, and Audrey spotted the source as they neared the centre of the camp.

“These people need the food! They have no blankets, no supplies at all.” A chantry sister was protesting at a merchant sitting on a crate of goods.

“And they can buy them,” the merchant replied acidly, “At the prices I charge.”

“Which are more than they might have earned in the past year!”

“That’s not my problem.”

Audrey veered to the right, altering their course to bring them into contact with the argument.

“Oh really,” Morrigan sniffed, “This is entirely unnecessary.”

“Is there a problem Sister?” Audrey asked, ignoring the comment.

“Nothing that’s any of your business,” the merchant said firmly.

“This man is grossly overcharging for the basic supplies these people need!” the Sister exclaimed.

“I see,” Audrey said thoughtfully. “Isn’t that a little unscrupulous? They’ve already lost everything they have, why make them suffer even more?”

“It’s not my fault if they can’t afford it.”

“Alright then,” Audrey said firmly, “How much are you charging for a blanket?”

“Two sovereigns.”

“Oh. So are these blankets made of the finest Dales Loden Wool? Were they hand stitched by finely paid crafts folk and delivered to you on the wings of doves?”

“I… what?”

“Oh, they weren’t?” Audrey asked, blinking innocently. “Because if you’d said yes then perhaps I could have understood the outrageous price. I suggest, Ser, that you lower it to something more reasonable.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “I think you’ve got me mistaken miss,” he laughed.

“For who?”

“Someone who gives a shit.” He spat at her feet.

“Hey!” Alistair began, taking a step forwards. “You should show some respect…”

“Respect?” Again the merchant laughed. “To a trio of sellswords who think they’re above me? There are Templars all over this camp; you’re not stupid enough to start anything.”

“’Tis no bother to me at what prices you sell your wares,” Morrigan assured him acidly, “Please, do not bundle me in with these imbeciles.”

“Thank you, Morrigan, for your unwavering support,” Alistair bit back at her. “Come on Cousland,” he said, his tone gentler, “Just leave it be.” Her shoulders fell as she allowed him to lead her away, the merchant guffawing at their retreating backs.

“I should be able to do… something!” she growled in frustration. “These people need food, they need blankets. If I was back in Highever…” she choked, her voice failing her. She might never be back in Highever again.

“We should go to the Inn,” Alistair said to fill the silence, “And restock. There should be supplies behind the bar. You,” he glanced at Morrigan, “Can go do… whatever it is witches do.”

“Dance naked around bonfires on the full moon, if the stories are to be believed,” she replied archly. Alistair shuddered.

***

“Are we not leaving?” Morrigan asked impatiently.

“Soon,” Audrey replied, “We’re waiting for some people. They’ll not be long.”

“Oh fantastic,” Morrigan drawled, “More useless bodies to drag along the road, no doubt.”

“Leliana helped us out of a tight spot in the Tavern,” Audrey reprimanded her, “And Sten… well, he might be helpful.”

“I’m still not convinced,” Alistair said doubtfully, “He _confessed_ , Audrey.”

“Look, here they come,” she said, ignoring his point and nodding in the direction of two figures heading their way.

“Oh fantastic,” Morrigan said with faux joy, “A Qunari and a Chantry Sister. Now we truly are a merry band of outcasts.” Brigadier barked and trotted over to Leliana, panting as he butted against her legs. The sister laughed and rubbed behind his bent left ear, smiling at Audrey.

“So,” she asked, “Where are we headed?” She looked to the Wardens, who in turn looked at each other in silence for a moment.

“I thought we should go to the Dalish first,” Audrey said finally. “They’re the closest, and we wouldn’t have to pass through anywhere densely populated, meaning Teryn Loghain is less likely to hear any Wardens survived Ostagar.”

“A good plan,” Leliana agreed, “And you and your companion should probably think about changing your armour before we head anywhere it might be recognised, yes?”

Audrey glanced down at the silver and blue uniform she’d received scant days earlier. “I suppose you’re right,” she said grudgingly. Alistair looked as though he might protest for a moment and then sighed deeply, nodding in agreement.

“We should keep it though,” he said firmly, “For… later.”

“Hopefully we can trade with the Dalish,” Audrey said after a moment, nodding. It was silly, but the armour was almost literally the only thing she had left in the world, along with the short swords on her back. She didn’t want to let go of it so soon.

“Well then, if we’re done moping let us be off.”

“No one’s moping Morrigan,” she snapped.

“You and Alistair have done nothing but since mother rescued you,” Morrigan laughed. “I shall scout ahead, if it is all the same.”

“Be my guest.”

There was a flash as Morrigan leapt into the air and transformed, becoming a crow that cawed loudly as she soared high into the sky. Leliana shielded her eyes with a hand as she watched the witch’s progress into the distance, archer’s eyes following her long after the others had lost sight of her.

***

“You are a Witch of the Wilds, I hear?” Leliana asked, sitting down beside Morrigan at their meagre fire that evening.

“Am I expected to socialise now as well?” Morrigan grumbled. “I shall start setting up my own fire if this continues.” Leliana looked as though she might try again, but then seemed to reconsider. Instead she turned back to the pot that was just barely simmering above the fire, stirring the lumpy stew within. Morrigan had gone out in her wolf form to catch rabbits, and Leliana had a surprisingly wide knowledge of the plants they passed on their travels. Audrey had walked with her for a short while after they stopped for the evening and the sister had pointed out to her which plants were safe to eat and which were more useful on the edge of her blade or at the tip of an arrow.

“The stew is just about ready,” Leliana said, startling Audrey out of the slight reverie she had fallen into. She accepted one of the chipped wooden bowls they’d picked up from the inn in Lothering and held it cupped in both hands.

“So we are heading for the Dalish first, yes?” Leliana asked when it became clear that no one else would break the silence. “Where else are you hoping to recruit from?”

“Well the treaties mean we’re owed support by the elves, the dwarves and the circle mages,” Alistair said after a moment, “And we’re going to head to Redcliffe to speak with Arl Eamon as well. Hopefully some of the Bannorn lords will lend us aid. They can’t _all_ believe Loghain’s lies.”

“Loghain commands a lot of respect,” Audrey said, shaking her head. “The Lords may not like him, but many of them trust him.”

“Had you met him?” Alistair asked after a moment, “Before?”

“Only once,” she said, “And then only briefly. My father respected him greatly, said he was one of the finest Generals Ferelden ever had. I’ve had more than one reason to second guess my father’s judge of character recently.” She let out a bitter laugh. “I’ll take the second watch,” she said, standing and looking to Sten at the edge of the camp, “Wake me.”

***

“Cousland,” Leliana said thoughtfully a short while later, “Is this the same Cousland as the Teryn of Highever?”

“He’s… was… her father,” Alistair said after a moment.

“Was?”

“I… it’s not really my place,” he deflected, somewhat lamely. Cousland shifted slightly, curling in upon herself as she slept. They had no blankets, nor any tents, so she had simply lain down a short distance from the fire and removed her cloak, using the thick blue wool as a pillow. Her hair was still braided, but she had unpinned the braids from where they were usually coiled and now the trailed down her back. She looked significantly more vulnerable in sleep than she ever did during the day, with her expression closed off and her eyes hard and distant. From the moment he’d met her, Audrey Cousland had held the world at arm’s length.

***

_“Please tell me you’re not another mage,” he sighed, turning to see who was waiting for him. He broke off as he caught sight of a pair of dark brown eyes, narrowed as their owner surveyed him from top to bottom._

_“Would it bother you if I was?” she asked. Her voice was clear, the accent Ferelden with a slight turn to it that he’d heard elsewhere. Highever, he realised._

_“Oh no, wait,” Alistair said, clapping a hand to his forehead. “You’re the new recruit. From Highever, right? Duncan told me to keep an eye out for you.” Now it was his turn to look her up and down. She was slim, but well built – muscular, and quite possibly trained to use the sword and dagger she wore at her back. And judging by the state of her armour, she had seen battle. The leather was scored in places and there was what looked like an arrow hole in one shoulder, beneath which he could make out bandages._

_“That’s me. You’re Alistair?”_

_“Yes. I’ll be accompanying you for the first part of your joining. Do you want to get that looked at first,” he indicated her shoulder, “One of the mages would be able to heal it for you no problem.”_

_“Ok then. Lead the way.” She smirked very slightly and he sighed. More mages all ready to snap at the Templar._

_“The mages are camped this way,” he replied with a resigned sigh. The first mage they encountered was an older woman with greying hair who appraised the wound with a practiced eye._

_“Sit still,” she said, placing a hand over the bandages. A soft white light blossomed around her fingers and Alistair saw the girl stiffen as the healing took effect._

_“You are a Warden?” the healer asked._

_“Just a recruit,” she replied. “Audrey Cousland.”_

_“And my name is Wynne. I’m one of the circle mages sent to aid the King. Although,” she chuckled, “I’m sure you’d guessed that much already. How does that feel? ”_

_Cousland rolled her shoulder slightly and smiled, nodding at the mage. “Much better, thank you.”_

_“It is no bother. This is why I came, after all, to keep the King’s men and the Wardens in top condition. Try not to stress it for the next hour or so and it will be good as new.”_

_Alistair zoned out a little as the two woman spoke, watching the activity around them as the Wardens and soldiers prepared for the battle ahead. He only realised Cousland was waiting for him when she cought lightly into her hand._

_“What? Oh right, yes. Sorry. We’re meeting Duncan by his tent with the other recruits. Have you met either of them?”_

_“Both, actually. They were headed over to the fire.”_

_“Duncan recruited Daveth in Denerim,” Alistair explained, “And I spoke to Jory briefly earlier – he’s from Highever as well, I think, but he travelled here ahead of you and Duncan. How did you get recruited anyway? We don’t get many women in the Wardens. I don’t know why though…” he trailed off, wondering for a moment before being brought back by her reply._

_“My family were murdered,” she said quietly. “Duncan helped get me out on the condition that I signed up.”_

_“Oh.” Alistair realised very suddenly that he had just demonstrated his excellent ability to seize hold of his foot and jam the entire thing into his mouth. “I’m… I’m sorry to hear that.”_

_She nodded brusquely and he pretended not to notice as she quickly wiped away a stray tear. “King Cailan has promised to bring them justice.” She was silent for a moment and then spoke again. “And if that doesn’t work, I promised my father vengeance.”_

***

They set off early the following morning. Leliana, the last to take a watch, had reheated what was left of the stew for a meagre breakfast and they sat in an uncomfortable silence as they ate and cleared the camp site. They had been on the road little less than an hour when they heard the sound of a commotion ahead of them, the sounds of shouting.

Audrey was the first to react; dashing ahead even as the others registered something was going on. Leliana unslung her bow and knocked an arrow, although she didn’t draw quite yet, and Alistair reached for his shield. Sten just watched, his eyes narrowing as the source of the noise came into view. Morrigan was nowhere to be seen, for she had been scouting ahead in her crow form.

A pair of dwarves was standing by a small caravan, surrounded by a semi-circle of haphazardly armed and armoured men. Bandits.

Audrey drew her blades and charged forward, swiftly followed by the others. They made short work of the criminals, who couldn’t stand up to three trained warriors despite having superior numbers. They did have an apostate on their side, but a well-placed arrow from Leliana took him in the eye mere moments into the battle. The whole thing took less than a minute, Sten disposing of the final bandit with a swift blow that took his head clean off his shoulders.

There was a moment of deep silence as they surveyed the forms of eight dead men around them, and it was Leliana who broke the silence.

“I hope you are unhurt,” she said to the dwarves.

“We’re much the better for your intervention good sers,” one of them said with a low bow. “Bodahn Feddic, very much at your service.”

“You’re a merchant?” Audrey asked, glancing at his caravan.

“I am indeed fine Miss,” he said, puffing up quite impressively. “Would you perhaps be interested in seeing my wares?”

“We’d definitely be interested in blankets,” she said, “And tents if you have any.”

“I have both.” He hesitated and seemed to be considering something. “It occurs to me,” he said finally, “That the roads are not safe for a merchant, such as myself, these days. Perhaps we could reach an arrangement?”

“What sort of arrangement?” Audrey asked.

“Well, you need tents and bedrolls, both of which I have in plentiful number. I need protection on the road. Would you perhaps trade one for the other?”

“You don’t want to travel with us,” she said bitterly, “We’re Grey Wardens, trouble is going to follow us.”

“Ahh, but you can fight the trouble off far more efficiently than I can! And it would be remiss of me not to offer my service to such fine soldiers as yourselves, as well as that of my son, naturally.”

“Enchantment!” the other dwarf piped up.

“This is Sandal, and he can enchant anything you ask,” Bodahn said fondly, a note of pride clear in his voice.

“Well… I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” Audrey said eventually. From the trees above came a loud _caw_ that somehow managed to convey both resignation and derision.

***

Their camp that evening was a far more comfortable affair. They set up two tents – one for Leliana and Audrey, one for Sten and Alistair. Morrigan had refused the offer and, true to her threat the previous night, had set up her own fire a small distance away. Still in view and close enough that they could say they shared a campsite, but far enough away that no one would be tempted to try and draw her into the conversation.

Once again, however, Audrey retired early. She volunteered for the final watch and slipped into her tent, shedding her armour with a relieved sigh. Both it and her blades would need cleaning, but that would wait until she was on watch. Until then she would get as much sleep as she could. Somehow, the entire weight of the world had fallen on her shoulders in the few short weeks since the attack at Highever.

She settled down in the warm cloth of the bedroll, still wearing the padding that went under her armour, and closed her eyes. She bolted upright in the early hours of the morning, wide awake, sweating and breathing raggedly. She fought her way free of the blankets and fumbled for the tent flap, desperate for the cold air outside. She almost tripped over Leliana’s legs as she emerged into the chill Ferelden night.

She was surprised to see someone else already sitting by the embers of the fire and staring morosely into them. Alistair glanced back to see who was joining him and a strange expression briefly flashed across his face.

“Cousland, of course. Sorry. I should have warned you.”

She thought about the dream that had forced her from her tent, of the horde and the dragon that had watched over them. “Was that… the dragon, was it the archdemon?”

“Yes. It’s how we know it’s a real blight,” he explained. She sat down across the fire and thought about the dream.

“Only Grey Wardens can kill an archdemon, right?”

“Yes, although I don’t know why.”

“And the Orlesian wardens are too far away. So either Ferelden falls or…”

“Or one of us kills the dragon at the head of a massive army of darkspawn. What fabulous and interesting lives we lead.” He laughed, but she could hear the strain in it.

“Tell me about Duncan,” she said, “I only met him briefly, but you knew him longer, right?”

“Only a few months,” Alistair confessed. “I was the most junior warden at Ostagar when you underwent your joining. Maker, what a mess this is.” He rubbed at his jaw and the fine fuzz of golden stubble that had started to grow. “He recruited me right before I was to make my vows – I was a Templar in training, you see.”

“I can’t really see you as a Templar.”

“I never said I was a _good_ Templar in training.” She laughed. And Maker, but it felt good to see her laugh, Alistair thought. He could count on one hand the number of times she’d smiled since they met, although he could hardly blame her for that.

“What was it like,” she began, “Being a Warden?”

“It… well it was a bit like I imagine having a family would be,” Alistair said before he’d really thought about what he was saying. When he saw the look Cousland was giving him, he elaborated. “I was raised by Arl Eamon,” he said, shrugging. “That’s how I know him.”

“How did you come to be raised by an Arl?”

“Well, and don’t laugh I mean this in the literal sense, I’m a bastard. Not Arl Eamon’s bastard mind, but a bastard nonetheless. He took me in and raised me. I wasn’t raised as his son or anything,” he added.

“What, did you sleep with the dogs?”

“Yeah, big slobbering dogs. Like your mongrel over there.” He jerked his head towards the sleeping form of Brigadier, who snuffled slightly.

“Brigadier is _not_ a mongrel. He’s a pure bred Mabari and he would have your hand if he heard you talking about him like that.”

“Probably my entire arm.” He sighed and stretched. “I’ll take over from Morrigan if you want to try get some more sleep.”

“It’s fine, I need to clean my blades anyway.”

“I’ll do it, just pass them over.”

She hesitated, but her entire body ached with tiredness and her muscles were sore. She had thought herself fit until she was expected to trek all day in armour and fight for her life every few hours. “Thanks,” she said gratefully, heading back to her tent. 

**Author's Note:**

> So I decided to write out my Warden's story, if only to get a better feel of the thing for myself. And once I'd started I thought I might as well post the thing! It'll be slow to update as I work hugely unsociable hours, but hopefully it'll chug along. Obviously nothing about dragon age is my own, all credit for that and any in game dialogue goes to Bioware.


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